


Barely a Passing Blink

by PhoenixDragon



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Time is like a river (except when it is not) and everything that we term ‘reality’ is caught like the sticks and leaves (along with other flotsam and jetsam) within the streams of it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barely a Passing Blink

_Time is like a river (except when it is not) and everything that we term ‘reality’ is caught like the sticks and leaves (along with other flotsam and jetsam) within the streams of it. It ebbs and flows, catching the occasional crest over a rock (or ‘event’ if you like) fixed within the bed of its course. It twists and turns and winds back on itself – while finding pools to settle into or waterfalls to crash itself over._

_Now and again, there are things that go against the common flow of the time-river (if that should be how you chose to think of it). An odd piece of the unordinary (a boot, a tire, a broken rod and reel) that gets caught in the craw of the flow, disrupting it ever so slightly. But once in a while there are things that are not-odd pieces of the ordinary. They are the ordinary gone odd: a raft fighting the flow, a canoe or barge sending up a frothing wake as it makes its own way along the river – a ripple of after-effect, a flurry of tidal upheaval – before it is gone again (almost as if it never was)._

_There are some things that are built for this time-river (like a TARDIS, for instance) that are made to cut through the stream with little disturbance. Designed to sail with or against the rushing waters that maintain their ever-forward (or backwards) course, as it was always meant to do; the ripple-effect of these canoes-that-aren’t-canoes (or barges, or rafts), giving the stream barely a pause on its merry way – a wave and it is gone. No harm done, whether intentions are good or ill._

_Then there are the other things: things that are not sticks, or boots or barges – but are just as deliberate and uncanny as these things. It belongs, but it does not. It is a part of the flow, even as it is separate. Not a rock, or a fish or the wind as it ripples through the streams…an obstruction, a diversion even as it helps the river along its way. A course changer that is nary a bump in the bed, even as it diverts the rushing channels to a whole new course. Another one of those things that just_ is _\- and it can bring about great destruction…or great relief. Subtle or massive, either made by time itself (or a more heavy-handed construction), these have more impact than a raft or a leaf or an old rubber tire. These are how civilizations are made and destroyed._

_No more than a fragment – or a ripple – but history can hinge on it…_

 

 

It was a tricky experiment. One that had to be watched with great care. And if he wasn’t being disturbed by every Tom, Dick and Harry UNIT had to offer (sometimes, literally), he was being thwarted by the less than stellar advancements of this miserable little backwater time-zone.

They didn’t even have _garage-door opening_ technology down-pat yet, for heaven’s sake. And satellites (proper, honest-to-goodness satellites) were a couple more decades away.

It would be depressing if he didn’t have so much to do. Like this experiment, for one. Just another few seconds and –

“Excuse me, are you the Doctor?”

The voice (female - young – but how the blast could he tell when _everyone_ sounded young here?!) startled him and he spun away from the acid-test in irritation, ready to snap at whom-ever the person was who dared to interrupt him this time.

“Yes. And who might you be, young lady?” His impatience (always at the ready now, even as he did his darnedest to temper it), leaped out before he could stop it; though he observed (with interest) how the woman at the door seemed not the slightest bit ruffled at his tone. If anything, her smile indicated that she not only expected it, but found it amusing. Dashed if he knew what to make of that.

And she looked so familiar…

 _’This is the one you want. Not_ that _one – this one…’_

“Oh! I’m no one,” she said calmly, smile never wavering from her lips. “The Brigadier sent me ‘round to fetch you. Said you needed to sign some forms or something?”

The Doctor sighed and swept his experiment into the trash (never heeding the smoke that started to pour up from under the lid as he did so), lips curled into a firm bow that wanted to be a frown as he regarded the woman from under his eyebrows. She looked completely nonplussed by his attitude - her serene smile just as determined as his frown was trying to be – not budging an inch in her duties. That (as well as the almost deja-vu feeling that had overcome him), made him pause before answering, his reply a little less biting than it normally would have been. Poor girl was just doing her job after all – no need to take her head off for it.

“Fine. I’ll follow you and see what this nonsense is all about. If I’m not getting nosy questions and silly interruptions, I’m being all but drowned in paperwork.” He grumbled, tugging his smoking jacket lapels in a show of fussiness. “Let us go, then.”

“I’ll catch you up,” she said, mind obviously elsewhere now that her coming to fetch him had been accomplished. “Just head straight to the Brigadier’s office and he’ll have them ready for you to sign. Then back to saving the world, yeah?”

“Hmph…if that can be accomplished in this dull time-period,” the Doctor muttered, sweeping past her to march to Lethbridge-Stewart’s offices. “Would take five of me…Miss?”

But she had already gone.

“Typical,” he sighed. He was already moving (whether he wanted to or not), and was therefore a good two doors away when the lab behind him exploded in a dazzling display of white light and ear-bursting sound. He was flattened to the floor by one of the doors that had been _attached_ to the lab, the titanium monstrosity protecting him from the worst of the debris, even as the whole world seemed to come raining down around him –

It was later that he learned the girl who fetched him didn’t exist. Everyone was accounted for in the UNIT base. There were no new faces amongst the people working or living near or around the area – and to make it worse, the Brigadier had no papers or anything else for him to sign.

Not yet, anyway.

The girl was never to be found - and the jokes about his mysterious ghost-woman were (sadly) only just beginning…

 

 

_These courses can be big or small – noticeable or unremarked – but that doesn’t alter the impact they can have. Many things go unnoticed in the general flow of the river of time; but that doesn’t change the outcome of those courses. If anything, it makes it easier to keep the streams from spilling over or diverting. Just an unseen hiccup within a small space – a mere after-thought that no one (truly) ever thinks on…_

 

 

“Oh thank goodness, Tegan! Into the TARDIS – Nyssa and Adric are already inside and I think it is best if we –”

“But that about that girl?” Tegan said breathlessly, pausing to scan behind her, even as she almost staggered into him from adrenaline-charged exhaustion. “She was right behind me – I would never have found you, found the TARDIS without her - she must be here somewhere!”

“If I see her, I’ll be sure to take her with us – now get inside, we don’t have much time. And no arguing or silly remarks about time and a time machine,” he barked, a little too white around the mouth for Tegan’s liking. He practically hauled her physically through the doors, any protest she would normally make dying just from the look on his (normally cheery) face, backed by that steely, commanding tone in his voice.

To his credit, he did stop for a long moment (scanning the dense copse of trees that Tegan had emerged from mere moment before), but upon seeing no one else (much less this non-descript ‘girl’), he closed the doors and set the Old Girl in motion; the coordinates hastily toggled for anywhere and any-when – only stopping to breathe a sigh of relief when the TARDIS was in the vortex. Tegan stared at him silently, the ever-present, smouldering resentment in the set of her shoulders and twist of her mouth, now overlaid with a bewildered sort of hurt.

“Doctor…Doctor, the girl,” she gasped, ignoring the odd look exchanged between Adric and Nyssa. “You just…you left her there! She _saved_ me and you just –”

“Tegan,” he said in that (new) no-nonsense voice that reeked of exhaustion and command all at once. “I did not see a girl. I saw you. I saw the danger we were in and I acted accordingly. I waited until it was almost too late, but if there was a girl there – she wasn’t anywhere to be seen by the time I saw _you_. I hate to say it, but she was not my main concern –”

“Not your main concern?” Tegan shrilled, famous temper at the ready. “Not your main _concern_?! No, of course not – because _your_ main concern is to land us in these messes before finding a way to dig us out again! I can see where just one piddling human in the middle of nowhere may not be your concern!”

“ _Tegan_ –”

“No! Just…no!” She huffed, looking closer to tears than she ever had, the need to cry wrestling with the need to shout – and it looked like crying might actually win this time. “I wasn’t seeing things. I didn’t imagine her. And now she’s there, by herself and we’ll never know what _happened_ to her.”

She stormed off towards the living quarters, leaving a stunned silence behind – Adric and Nyssa looking distressed and unsure of what to do – and (as always) looking to him to have the answers. He didn’t quite know what to do with that, so he muttered something about double-checking coordinates so he’d have an excuse to not look at them; quite sure that they thought he had deliberately left someone on the planet to face the Vashta Nerada alone. He would never do that…but truly, they didn’t know him, just as he didn’t know them.

And now he had one more thing to worry about.

Tegan was prone to dramatics, but she wasn’t one to make things up or hallucinate. So if she said there was someone there, that he left someone behind…

Feeling guilty and more than a little disturbed over the whole matter, he buried himself in the stream of calculations, allowing the numbers and probabilities to soothe him as only numbers and probabilities could. After all, it always came out in the wash…didn’t it?

 

 

 _The thing about courses, whether made by something (or_ someone _), is that in the end, they are inevitable. They are things that will always_ be _. It is said (and often enough to be a cliché), that nothing is set in stone; that nothing can move mountains but Time. If the mountains weren’t there, though – what would Time move? If the rivers don’t exist, how can a course change? But there are always mountains. There are always rivers. And what happens to these two very different objects in (and of) Space-Time itself, is always destined. Time is not particularly picky in this regard._

_Whether they choose their own way – or it is chosen for them – some things will always be. No mountain can hold against it and no river can refrain from it. Such is the way of all universes – and the way of all things within them._

 

 

“Do I know you?”

The dark-haired girl jumped (almost guilty, as though she had been caught at something), her smile seeming more reflexive than genuine – and looking more tired than he felt. If that was possible.

No one could be as lost.

Even in a place as big as this.

“No,” the girl replied, dark hair swinging thoughtfully around her pixie-features as she seemed to consider the question at hand, her hesitation when she answered a mere heartbeat – but all the more curious because of her response. “Not yet, anyway. Say, I do believe I’ve found what you are missing.”

“Not yet?” He retorted, thinking he was missing any number of things – a sense of humor and his memory being the first to go. “And what may I be missing besides the fact that I’m not in acquaintance with you…as of yet.”

“Why, your blue box.” the girl grinned, head tilting prettily as if she was hearing something he could not – which was almost as irritating as her riddles and obvious cheer in the face of his confusion. Which seemed to be a given nowadays. Confusion, that was – not irritation. “That _is_ why you are here, isn’t it? I’m quite sure She belongs to you. We have Her in the back of Warehouse 13, as a matter of fact. Here are the papers you need to sign before we turn Her over to you…yes, here…and your initials there. An ‘x’ will do fine, no worries. Just head back along the main corridor here, take a left at the billiards section and then a right at the clocks section and you should see Her plain as day. Here is your key – I’m quite sure you will need it – just follow those instructions and you can access your property immediately. Off you go then.”

“Miss?” He called as she turned to swish away (clipboard of papers hanging loose in her grip), her rapid-fire speech and incomprehensible surety just as baffling as well… _everything_ had been the last couple of years. “Miss? How are you so sure that this… _box_ …is mine?”

She stopped and smiled an mysterious, almost wistful smile at him – as though she was seeing him and yet seeing _beyond_ him all at once. It was a sad smile, though it was beautiful all the same.

He could only hope he would remember it. He remembered little else these long days.

“It has your name on the tag. You _are_ John Smith, aren’t you?”

“Well…yes, I suppose I am,” he replied, more confused than ever, but sure she knew what she was on about. Which was saying something for _her_ at least.

“Well, then,” she laughed. “That settles it, yes? Run along then, you clever man. And don’t forget your key.”

He stared after her retreating form, key overly warm and solid in the tight grip of his fist. Maybe this box (She??) could give him the answers he had been searching for. At this point, it was worth a try. Almost anything was. Too many questions and not enough answers of late. None that he could retain, anyway. This was just odd enough (a warehouse in the middle of nowhere) and crazy enough (a girl who knew him, but did not), that it might be the hinge to crack open the muddled and weary world he existed in.

He murmured the directions to himself (barely a whisper), as he turned down the main corridor, footsteps gaining speed, his (supposed) memory-dragon folded close and precious in the palm of his hand, finally ready to be conquered…

 

 

_All rivers have a beginning and an end. The middle holds all the important things (well, most of them), but the middle is just racing towards the nowhere it winds up in (wherever that ‘nowhere’ may be). The beginning is always the exciting bit, as is the middle. But one should never forget there is always, always an end. Sometimes it ends where it starts – and sometimes, the end is only the beginning. This tale holds none of those things and all of them at once._

_I suppose, when all is said and done, it is up to whomever witnesses the endings (or the beginnings) to choose what they may be. The middle is decided. What happens before it or after it is over…well, that depends on where you stand in the stream._

 

 

“ _You_! I remember you!”

The girl he was addressing startled, hair swaying loose around her face in a way that wished to tug at his memory. At this point, though, he was used to those feelings, which made them easier to ignore, than dwell on them too long. The girl though – she looked thoughtful, then sad, then thoughtful again – like she was trying to place him, succeeded, then rejected the idea all in the space of a breath. Again, familiar –

But what _wasn’t_ at his age?

“I’m sorry?” She asked, head tilting ever so slightly, as though to catch a note that only she could hear. “I’m quite sure we’ve never met.”

“Oh,” he replied, stopping mentally in his tracks before bounding off again with that damnable enthusiasm the passing centuries had been unable to shake. “Different face. Looked like a grunge rock god. Or a magician. Depending on my mood. Depressing, really. Makes me shudder to think of it.”

And he did so, whether it was for dramatic affect or the actual dismay at his previous self, even he couldn’t guess. But he did suppose that the girl knew what he was talking about from the look on her face.

Curious that the (mention of the) change of his own hadn’t fazed her in the slightest. If anything she looked wistfully amused (if such adjectives could exist in the same space), her gaze blanking in a curious way that he understood, even if he didn’t like it being aimed at himself. Like she was hiding something they both should know, but only she truly had all the cards.

“Oh. I see,” she drawled, non-committal and irritatingly non-curious. “How lovely... Well, good-day.”

“I brought a guitar. I told you the story of Clara…don’t you remember?”

The girl smiled that sad, enigmatic smile – the wistful amusement just wistful now – like she had lost something and could never get it back. Made him feel terrible, really. He never told her that day how she had saved him. He couldn’t really explain it then (he could hardly explain it _now_ ), but she had helped save him. When there was no one left –

_Impossible Girl_

to hold his hand. Much less save him from himself.

There had been a lot of running since then. A lot of Companions and laughter and new friends (not to mention several old ones), in and out of his life, but he could never forget that friendly pixie face. The diner was in the wrong location, but the face…it felt like old times, somehow. And he swore he would never forget her, no matter how many of his _own_ faces he went through.

She was important. So, so important. And he’d never gotten a chance to say –

“Thank you,” the girl murmured, taking a mercy on him and giving him a full, open smile filled with forgiveness and understanding that he hadn’t known the likes of in quite a long, long time. “I _do_ remember. And you…saved me that day.”

“I was about to say the same - the thank you and the how you saved me part,” he clarified, smiling back without even being aware he was doing so. “I was hoping I would see you, because I needed to tell you that.”

“Ahh, my dear Mr. Smith,” she laughed. “You always tell me. In my dreams, you tell me that again and again. But that particular day? You saved me. For once, you saved _me_. Long after my days of saving you were over, you returned the favor. Just as you always said you would. Thank you for that. Thank you for so many, many things. But for that most of all.”

The girl (how could he still not know her name?) bounced on the tips of her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek, the gesture seeming unconscious and borne of familiarity – even as he could swear he had only met her the once. Her words stunned him, old questions (ones he thought he had long left behind), creeping to the tip of his tongue, even as he knew he’d never have a chance to ask them.

He was proven right just seconds later as she turned to walk away, the door of the little shop half-open before he could even get his mouth synced with his mind. He took two steps forward, only to be stopped by a sharp look over her shoulder – her lips quirked in that amused, yet secret smile – eyes clear, bright and haunting in the mid-afternoon sun.

“Never stop running, Doctor,” she said, the serious tone softened by the tilt of her mouth. “Run on, you clever man – and I’ll remember you…”

 

 

_All things come to an end._

_Except those times where the ending isn’t truly an ending._

_Where the beginning lies on that twist along the course, the ending so, so near – even as it gets further away. The end will come, as it always does. Maybe not as expected. Maybe not as soon (or as far) as we can perceive. The beginning is usually where it all starts though. And the middle is sometimes not as important as where it takes you._

 

 _Even if you go the long way ‘round._  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings:** Character Study, Introspection, Speculation  
>  **A/N:** Written for [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=who_contest)[**who_contest**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=who_contest)'s **Prompt:[Missed](http://who-contest.livejournal.com/304366.html)**. Alas, this fiction is even more wildly incoherent, implausible and unfathomable than they usually are. And in more of a need for a beta than ever. (Apologies in advance.) I was aiming for a certain type of tale, missed, tried again, whereupon it went wildly to the left before settling (if you can call it that), only _vaguely_ touching on the original point I was trying to make (which is buried in there somewhere... very likely in the very middle with just a teaser to round it off at the end) Ah well. At least I wrote something? *Grins* As per usual, this fic is mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. And (as always), I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/wandery/blithery and unbeta'd.  
>  **Disclaimer(s):** _I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!_


End file.
